


Screw

by cmshaw



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-01
Updated: 2004-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't be such a baby," Winry said. "I'm just tightening the cover screws."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screw

Ed buried his face in the pillow and bit his lip. These sheets were softer than he usually found in the accommodations he and Al took; Hughes must have had him admitted in the officer's wing of the hospital, because he didn't think ordinary patients got this sort of treatment. They'd given him a good draught to kill the pain earlier this morning, but it was wearing off now.

Winry bent his elbow slightly, and he winced as the scar tissue across his shoulders pulled. "Hold still," she said absently, not looking up from his wrist where it was broken open on the table beside his bed. Ed breathed deeply in and let the antiseptic hospital air out slowly. It wasn't easy to stay completely relaxed while Winry repaired him, but the alternative was to have her remove the arm entirely until it was fixed; the mere thought of the agony of nerve reattachment made his stomach roll inside of him and his head ache. Besides, lying even in a fancy officer's room all morning with nothing to do but not scratch the edges of the bandages wrapped around his chest would drive him crazy. Al was -- talking to Al was not an option.

"All right," Winry said, "hold still now," and she held his wrist together with gloved fingertips as she picked up a screwdriver in her other hand.

"I've _been_ holding still," Ed grumbled. "Hey. Hey, that tickles. Winry!" He dug his bare toes into the sheets and breathed between clenched teeth.

Winry tsked at him, sounding uncannily like her grandmother. "Don't be such a baby," she said. "I'm just tightening the cover screws. Now this one," and she held up on the edge of his vision a twisting spike of metal at least two inches long, "this one might sting a bit."

"It's not funny," Ed said, thumping his foot on the bed. "It--" and he choked on a moan as Winry carefully bent his wrist backward and set the tip of the screw in her hand into his automail.

He didn't have anything like the level of sensation he got from his flesh arm in his automail arm, but he could feel heat and a certain pressure from Winry's hand pinning his forearm just below the wrist. The screw winding slowly into his wrist was different -- it was cooler than flesh or automail from sitting out on the table, for one thing, and the slow, even turns of Winry's screwdriver kept sinking it further inside his body, where the gold-wire nerves usually ignored vibrations...except, apparently, for the ones created by this particular screw twisting into him, which were running up and down his arm and making his heart pound. With a rush of blood to his face against the cool pillowcase, he realized that he was grinding his hips against the mattress because he had a hard-on that was getting harder with every twist of that damned screw.

"Shit," he said, clutching the pillow tightly with his other arm and holding his body rigidly still.

Winry paused and lifted the hand not pinning his arm. The head of her screwdriver rubbed lightly, maddeningly, against his wrist. "Is this actually hurting?" she asked, sounding worried.

"Just finish it," Ed grated out.

"I might have set it wrong," she said. "Hang on," and she set the screwdriver firmly to the screw again. It took Ed a few turns to realize that the sensation was receding instead of growing.

"No, no!" he said. "It's okay. It just...tickles. Please don't do that all over again."

"You're sure it doesn't hurt?" Winry asked. She turned the screw one rotation deeper and stopped, waiting for his reaction.

Ed gulped and rubbed his face against the pillow. If he stayed very still, Winry would never know what was wrong with him. "I'm sure," he said. Her next few twists were very slow and gentle, and Ed felt as though his skin was going to catch fire where it pressed into the sheets. "You can go faster," he growled.

"Don't tell me how to repair automail," Winry snapped. "And hold still!"

"I am holding still!"

"You are not!"

"I am!"

"Are not!"

"Am-- uhhhhhh," Ed said, as Winry leaned on his wrist and twisted her screwdriver sharply three times and left the screw set deeply within his wrist. It was vibrating tightly in its threads. It felt like it was halfway to his elbow, and Ed bit down on the pillow as black spots swam behind his eyes. He was going to -- he was -- he was going to embarrass himself in front of Winry and he'd never live it down, never....

Shallow breaths moved him past the crisis with the sheets still clean, but he was in agony as surely as if she'd taken the screwdriver to his balls instead.

"Okay!" Winry said brightly. "Now let's see about that thumb."

"Winry," Ed said. "Could you...go check on Al for me? I need to use the can." He risked lifting his head up to look at her. She looked suspicious, but no more than she usually did when he said anything. "Please?" he said.

Winry sighed. "All right, all right." She bent his hand and arm a couple of times, and Ed did his best not to twitch as her gloved grip slid up and down his automail. "Don't mess this up," she said, and stretched as she stood up. Ed waited while she peeled off the gloves and shook out her hands and finally, finally, bounded out to door.

He sat up with a gasp, flinging the sheets to the side and not looking down. There was a private bathroom attached to this room, and he staggered to it, fetching up against the sink. "Okay, okay," he muttered, and spat dryly into his flesh hand a couple of times before putting it down between his legs. He couldn't stop the moan that burst out of him as he closed a fist around his aching hard-on, but he brought his other hand up to cover his mouth anyway. He could see the base of that damn screw set just below the surface of his wrist, and he closed his mouth around the smooth metal there before he thought how childish it was to put things into his mouth. He could feel it, though -- the heat from his mouth spread down through the screw faster than it spread through the rest of his wrist, and he licked the head of the screw with the tip of his tongue to feel the texture of it. With another moan, he jerked his flesh hand twice and fell back against the wall as he came.

Hurriedly he washed his hands and stomach with icy cold water from the sink. The bathroom was brightly lit, and he couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror. He flexed his automail arm instead. It looked like Winry was almost done repairing it; he'd be able to put Al's armor back in shape as soon as she got his thumb to bend again. He walked slowly back to the bed and stretched out again, pulling the sheet up around his chest and laying his arm out sideway on Winry's operating table. The sooner they were mobile again, the sooner they could get started on some new avenues for research. That would be good.


End file.
